


Roundabouts

by Celandine



Series: Dakin/Irwin [18]
Category: History Boys (2006)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-23
Updated: 2008-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their real schooldays were never like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roundabouts

When Dakin appears at his study door dressed in a coat and tie that are as nearly like the ones he wore at Cutler's as possible, Irwin always feels the same half-shamed excitement that he felt when Dakin was really his student. There's nothing illicit any more, of course, but the clothing is enough of a reminder that Irwin's prick stirs immediately and he has to adjust himself before he rolls out from behind the desk and over to Dakin.

This time Dakin has thought up a new twist to their game, and he whispers it in Irwin's ear, lowering his trousers and bending over so that Irwin can punish a naughty pupil in a way that is both more satisfying and less time-consuming than rewriting an essay would be.

Dakin obviously loves it, his cock pressed hard against the unyielding surface of Irwin's desk, leaving a wet smudge even through the white cotton of his pants. Irwin likes the way that Dakin's expression is clouded and soft afterward as he kneels, sucking Irwin's cock.

Another time, half in jest, half-seriously, Dakin asks if Irwin ever had a master paddle him in school, and if he liked it, and seems unsurprised when Irwin tells him yes. Irwin doesn't dare to stand on shaky legs long enough to play the part fully, but they do the best they can with Irwin sprawled on his own desk, smelling the scent of old wood and polish, his glasses askew and bending one ear. There is something delightfully perverse and yet almost innocent in it all, the way that they both know that it is play, that this paddling is for their own mutual pleasure and excitement, not shame, not punishment.

The counted strokes warm Irwin's bum, but it is in his belly that the heat rises, his cock with it, trapped beneath him. Dakin presses close against him, knowing fingers parting his cheeks, opening, filling him. He gasps at the intrusion, but only at the suddenness of it, the realisation of closeness, of closure, and he finds himself biting at his own wrist as he comes, calling Dakin "sir" because that is part of the game.


End file.
